SPF 5000
by TheCleanLine
Summary: I know not my purpose, but my creed: Help those in need. I have the skills of a warrior, and it is my job to stop the second great war...
1. SPF 5000 Intro

_This is just a simple, short intro into my new Fallout fic, titled SPF 5000 Please feel free to comment, follow, or do what ever you want, its cool._

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You're walking down the road.

That can mean several things. It could portray that you don't have a car, or that they don't exist anymore…

It could mean your destination is close, or you that you don't know where you are going…

Right now it's both.

The withering heat of the Mojave desert does not help. It doesn't it help that I'm behind 'enemy' lines. Caesar's Legion territory is not someplace you want to be, even if you do not have a bad history with them. They will always have a problem with you. The Legion may talk about the way they serve justice as being the only right way, claiming it has a stark beauty. Granted, the officers will sometimes use Latin, but they are still vicious tribal's at their core, leaving destruction in their wake. They are in no way correct, at least in my eyes.

I'm just a simple man of twenty-five. I've gone by many aliases and been on my own since I stood a foot tall. I have no siblings. I have no wife, no kids. I have no destination…


	2. Chapter 1: The Orders

_Here is the first official chapter. Please comment if you think I should change anything. I know its one chapter in, but I'll always take feedback._

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As I snapped his neck, I made sure to let the body fall back slowly. I had him by the shoulders now, dragging him as silently as I could around a large boulder. His friends are nearby and the last thing I want is a full on firefight with Legion boys. Not that I minded tagging a few here and there…

I can be described as big. That's why I'm pretty good at snapping necks, I guess. Standing at a good six-foot one, and weigh about two-hundred pounds, with most of that muscle, people who try messing with me end up dead. I'm not one to leave survivors.

"Get done pissing, recruit. We need to get moving. Last unit to link up with Centurion Davis gets beheaded!"

As I peek over the tall, wide boulder, I can make out three men clad in crimson. Two of them have .357 caliber long-guns slung over their shoulders on gecko hide slings, one with a scope. The other soldier with them is only armed with a machete. They have hoods over their heads to block out the Arizona sun, and goggles to keep out the sand that seems to get into all the cracks. Their friend will not come back from relieving himself behind the boulder.

"Good thing," I thought. "They have poor perception right now, covering their heads like that. I bet taking them will be cake."

Conflict isn't really in my nature, but when Legion blocks the road west, I'll take care of them. Save the NCR some trouble when they cross paths.

I drew my silenced .45 out of its ancient leather holster, and crept to the other side of the boulder to get a better shot on the three men. I checked the magazine, and it was full. Racking back the slide, I could see the beautiful glint of a brass casing, seated and ready to go inside the chamber.

The Legionary armed with the machete came towards my end of the boulder. He was drawing down the scarf over his mouth, and simultaneously taking out a pack of Big Boss cigarettes. He never got the chance however, to light one up, as I put a hollow point round through his forehead. Because the round is designed to mushroom inside tissue, there was no brilliant exit wound of gore, as his body dropped to the ground like a rag doll.

As his comrades turned to watch his body slide a little down the gradual slope, I had time to send another round down range, this one into the chest of the Legionary farthest to my left. Because of the time, and my targets position, the final Legionary had time to dive to his left, where I could not see him through the boulder.

I decided in an instant to back up a few feet away from the large boulder, and make a wide ark around the right side, toward what I thought as my final enemy. As I moved quickly at a crouch, I could hear the second Legionary I hit gasping for air, and scrambling to his feet. His armor must have taken the hollow point I fired center mass. But damn, I sure did take the wind out of him.

At the same time, I could hear the hiding Legionary pulling the bolt of his semi-automatic weapon back to charge a round. These men must not have had their weapons loaded, thinking they were safe this far into Arizona. Think again, Legion boys…

As I came around the right side of the boulder, I could see the unharmed Legionary's ass, as he ran up the hill twenty yards in front of the boulder, and drop down on the other side, his head and rifle visible. My situation suddenly became dire.

"If only the second Legionary I shot stayed down." I began thinking, as a .357 smacked into the ground behind me.

The same man just mentioned had began firing from the same hill as the other Legionary who had just ran to it, only 50 yards or so separated them, giving their fire a deadly crossing effect on where I was crouched.

I have two choices right now. One, I can scramble back to the left side of the boulder, blocking their fire because they have a slightly higher angle on the boulder, now that they are on the hill. Doing this, I would just make myself a sitting duck, as the Legionary's could just wait me out, or cover each other as they made their way down the hill, twenty yards to the boulder and seriously mess me up. This decision is most definitely out of the question.

My only other option right now, is to run the fifteen feet over to a small dip in the land, with bowling ball sized rocks lining the top of it.

I pick myself up more, as I lunge towards the dip behind me, rounds continuing to impact behind me.

As I reach my destination unharmed, I dive my legs in first, so that I can face myself towards the Legionary's. Peeking through two of the rocks in front of me, I can see the Legionary to the left, (the one I shot in the chest) having trouble with his weapon. I recognize my chance.

Trying to stay aware of the other Legionary's position, I raise up my .45 and put the sights on his head, as he is also laying down in the top of the hill. His partner is doing a terrible job covering his friend as I am taking no more fire. Seeing that he is not putting his head down, even with a malfunctioned weapon, I squeeze off a round. It goes over the Legionary's head to left. Taking no notice to how close he came to death, he continues trying to clear the weapon, now furiously cycling the bolt, cussing wildly at it. I shoot left handed, so compensating for my trigger pull, I bring the sights slightly right of his head. This time I finish the job. No time to see if I achieved an exit wound on his neck, I get to my feet staying crouched, and move to the right.

While moving, I receive a shower of rock splintering up into my face, and a breeze on my left ear, as my final adversary has returned fire. Now sure of the third Legionary's death, I can focus on the last one.

Diving into the farthest right part of the ditch, I look up and see him moving to my right along the hill. He is about 40 yards away, so I open fire leading him off about an inch at this distance, and for the speed his is running. None of my rounds find their mark however, as the final Legionary is able to once again take cover behind the hill. I see a rifle barrel come up over the top, and his head. Before I can sight my pistol between his eyes, I see a muzzle flash, and feel pressure on my right shoulder. I roll left, getting into cover behind the rocks, as one more shot ricochets by, picking at the rocks closest to me.

I only have on some leather armor, manufactured by Gibbson Clarke in Arizona, a new merchant house. I did take the time though, to reinforce the shoulders, chest, and thighs with sheet metal scrap taken from a blown up car. What improvements I made kept the round from entering my shoulder, as the metal there is now dented and useless. Quickly drawing my combat knife, I cut the leather straps keeping on the piece of metal, and let it fall to the ground with a clank. I work my shoulder in a circle, making sure its not broken.

Its not, but sure as hell bruised.

I crawl to the right and peek over the rocks. Sure enough, he's waiting for me, and I receive another shower of chipped rock in my face. I put my head back down and count to three, readying my weapon. As soon as the firing stops, I put my weapon up first, then my head. Resting on my right elbow, I put the sights on the now reloading Legionary. Exhaling, I squeeze off two rounds. Both manage to miss, but I have delayed his reloading, and garnered his attention once again. Getting back down, I crawl about five feet to the left. As soon as I stop crawling, I hear firing from the Legionary. This time, his shots are way off, impacting my previous position five feet to my right. I raise my head and weapon up the same way I did in the other position, and see the legionary still focused on my previous spot. Using this to my advantage, I fire off two rounds.

The first round goes low, impacting the side of the hill in front of him, but the second round aimed by my weapons recoil, enters his left eye, and exits below his ear in a shower of gore. The hollow point did its job in that small amount of space between his left eye and ear, tearing through the space splintering bone and scrambling brain matter.

Scanning the immediate area, looking for any other threats or backup that arrived to late, I see nothing but the dust settling.

Standing up now, I brush off the dust from my leather kneepads and wipe the sweat from my brow. I hurry inspecting the bodies, as I expect visitors from the battle.

All of the Legionary's have on light packs, with some essentials in them like purified water, canned food, and some local fruit found on bushes and trees. One Legionary appears to have a vial of antivenom. I take these items and stash them into my own pack, along with the items I already have, like Pork n' Beans, purified water, and my token bottle of Nuka Cola. I'm saving that for a special occasion. I pick up their weapons and inspect them, laying them out on the ground after collecting them.

Two .357 caliber long guns, that look like an NCR service rifle with the pistol grip sawed off, and the carry handle removed. It appears to have a tube magazine, fed from the side, with a bolt like a Garand in front of the opening to the tube. One has V sites, illuminated for nighttime use, and the other a shitty scope that's to small for the weapon. I take the machetes from the two recruits I killed, and stashed them in my pack.

On closer inspection of the two rifles, I disassemble the one with the scope into two pieces, and stash it in my pack. I shoulder the only good rifle and look down the sights.

"This will do just fine for now." I figured aloud.

I gather up the remaining ammo from them, which totals out to be fifteen rounds. I rack the rifle a few times, emptying it of its ammunition and then reload it. The magazine inside holds seven rounds. Even fully loaded, the weapon is quite light.

But the most interesting piece that I find is from what I assume is the leader of the squad. It's an envelope with the seal of the bull on the front, and a wax coating making it watertight, containing orders. There is a map, and a list of towns inside the Legion. One town is crossed off, and the others have arrows pointing to the north. The orders are very, very simple.

_EVACUATE_

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_I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter as soon as I'm done writing it._


	3. Chapter 2: The Ranger

_Please enjoy reading everyone! Comments are welcomed!_

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Good thing I had taken a pair of the goggles from one of the Legionaries I killed.

I'll definitely need them through this…

The blast wave came behind me from the south, shaking the ground as the wave of shock and awe ripped by throwing up pebbles and whipping up a cocktail of dirt and dried plant life into my nose and mouth. The wave then reversed itself, making the world look suspended in time. It all came crashing down as the wave hit me in the chest like a hammer, sucking back up into the mushroom cloud several well distanced miles behind me.

It was eight hours ago I found the envelope containing the evacuation orders for this small section of Arizona desert. That's how long it took the Legion to detonate a nuclear device. In their own territory.

The incredibly bright light died and all that is left is a mushroom cloud several miles high. This isn't some Manhattan Project nuke. This one is obviously a combination of Cold War and post Great War tech. Still in the same position I was after the return shockwave, I head off to the North continuing on a trail only my eyes can see….

A small town glints in the distance, a good ten miles away seated along the edge of a cliff. If I've been following the Legion evacuation orders correctly, this town should be crawling with them. Hopefully there will be some caravans to blend into, maybe even join if they are headed west towards the New California Republic.

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Three hours later…

Screams and grunts could be heard all around as walk up to a town full of crimson. These screams are notably female ones, meaning the Legion has slaves here. As I skirt around the edge of town, off of the road, I can see the slaves. All one hundred of them.

The sight before me could be compared to the Nazi death marches during the holocaust. The slaves, all women, are being herded like animals out of the town to my right. To the east. Each slave has a Legionary at her side, presumably her owner, as they kick their property. The slaves have large packs over their shoulders, obviously to big for them as they are hunched over moving almost at a crawl. Talk about filthy…. by the looks and the stench as the mass goes by, these slaves have never bathed as each slave is a varying shade of dirt, blood, and feces. Covering my nose, I back away allowing the slaves and their owners through. I'll walk into town the opposite way of the herd.

A fierce guard is at the makeshift gate, that appears to be chain link fence posted across an old set of wheels so it can be easily rolled open. The guard who warmly greets me looks to be around six and a half feet tall, wearing bright red and black armor coated with gold at the bottom signifying his rank. His face is covered in a dark mask complimented by a large set of jet-black goggles across his eyes. Brightly colored feathers poke out the top of his helmet, making him a Decanus.

"Halt civilian. Sate your business!" he shouts, even though I'm standing only a few feet away.

"On my way through," I say, keeping my head up, body straight, "What town am I in?"

Show no weakness towards the Legion, and they may just respect you.

"No town, civilian. This is Camp Thorn of Caesars Legion! We are moving our men to another area along with the slaves. You are not permitted to enter. LEAVE!"

As I'm about to protest what the Decanus said to me, thinking "It's just going to be left now? I can't poke around what you filthy Legion leave behind?" something tells me as I look at the six Legionaries with their attention now turned towards me that I should comply.

It's not that six or seven Legionaries are hard to take, I'm a big guy, mind you…. They are more so simple to drop in open ground, but here in hand-to-hand combat with this many is suicide. Legion loves getting up-close so their poorly equipped, fanatical recruits can actually do damage with their makeshift weapons instead of antique firearms.

I take my time backing off, making sure to keep eye contact through his goggles. Taking the scenic rout to the east where they're taking the slaves, I notice something. Besides the Legionaries I encountered at the gate, and the few more still inside the small 'camp', a squad sized group have congregated around a small building twenty yards out from the slave road on the other side from me. Among those loitering are some Legion Veterans, drinking from their own makeshift hydration packs. The door on the shack throws open, and a NCR Ranger comes flying out unconscious. The Ranger laying face down, gets a beautiful kick in the ribs by the Centurion coming out after him. The men in front of the Centurion snap to attention and give a firm Legion salute.

"Get this fucking profligate, and behead him in the river! Let his blood flow downstream like the might of the degenerate troops!" said a screaming Centurion. I could barely hear him say this over the moaning of slaves on the road….

As the Legionaries remark to the commander at the honor of carrying out such a task, I swiftly make my way to the back of the slave column and get onto the right flank of the men outside the shack taking care of the ranger.

"NCR Ranger this far inside occupied Arizona?" I thought. "I bet he knows what's going on here. The reason he's most likely here is for the goddamn nuke test."

I've got to save him if I can…

Its slow going, as the Legionaries take turns fireman carrying the Ranger, slowly making their way down a steep cliff face to the river down below. Its turning into sunset quickly so I remove my goggles, the Legion men doing the same.

Keeping to their right, I'm presented with the problem of getting down the same cliff without attracting their attention. They're making enough noise themselves, hooting and hollering at getting to behead a Ranger. We are far enough away from the slaves now, so that it's safe to assume we are alone. It's just me, and four soon to be dead Veteran Legionaries.

It takes about twenty minutes to get down to the river in the canyon below. I stayed in the shadows as the sun fell, and kept away from any dried plant life. They make no notice of my presence.

It's now dark out in Arizona, snuggled down in to a canyon. Two of the Legionaries light torches, placing them a few feet from the river.

"Good, they'll be fire blind," whispering under my breath.

I maneuver myself into the best position so that the targets are not too spread apart. Two Legionaries on the riverbank with the Ranger in the gravely sand, and two setting up a small camp. These men are seasoned veterans of the Mojave campaign, and can fight with the best. Don't let them get close...

Their armor is sheets of metal, draped between red fabric, with seemingly heavy helmets snugly strapped to their heads. Each man adorns a large red stripe on his helmet. Noting this, I silently remove the magazine from my .45 and eject the hollow point round from the chamber, as I slowly cycle the weapon. I put a magazine in with black tipped rounds, signifying they are armor piercing. I'm going to punch right through some Legion body armor. I can't help but grin a little…

I sight in the Legionary closest to me. He is currently busy hammering in a spike for a tent, chatting with his comrade on the other side of the tent, who is also hammering. I put his head at the end of my illuminated sights, only about ten yards away. The only sound is a muffled CLUNK as the round penetrates the side of his helmet, just below the ear. The suppressor screwed into the end of my .45 did its job. I had timed the shot just right too. The moment the second Legionary drove his hammer into the metal spike, I fired, concealing my shot even more than my weapon already did. The second Legionary takes no notice to his friend slumping to the right, as I put a round straight through his forehead.

"Why did you stop work-" started the first vet to turn around. He noticed the men dead on the ground and made the dumbest choice possible. Instead of rushing ashore and heading away from me to find cover, he chooses to further distance himself by wading into the river! Just as he is splashing around trying to get away from the torch light, I send two armor piercing rounds downrange into his back just under the left shoulder blade.

During this, the final Legion vet takes a hold of the Ranger and puts his machete up to his throat.

"I'll do him in, right here! Back away where ever you are profligate, or I spill this pigs blood into the river!"

As I am about to slowly move left towards the tent the later Legionaries were building, I see a glint of light reflecting off of the torches near the Rangers right boot. As I focus in squinting my eyes, I see the Ranger is awake, and driving a knife into the stomach of the Legionary holding him. The Ranger slowly slides the knife up and down, making the Legionary flail horribly, and choke on his own blood. He takes the blade out and quickly moves behind the Legionary in a reverse plowing the blade behind the Legionaries head into his brainstem.

They both splash into a heap in the river. Not knowing if the current is strong here I rush down the bank ten yards, past the tent, and into the river.

I can see the outline of a body, and grab a hold of its right arm. Hoping I've got the Ranger, I pull him the few feet to the shore. I drag the body into the torchlight and quickly note the tan camouflage of the Rangers you see around the Mojave. Looking at the NCR patch on his arm, I can see his face is badly bruised and covered in blood, despite just being in the river.

He has again lost consciousness.

I try to shake him awake, but nothing responds except the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

I pick up the heavy Ranger, and begin hiking. It must have been around a half hour before I stopped, and put him down. With still no sign of consciousness, I begin pitching my tent.

I distanced myself from any Legionaries in the area by heading in the opposite of the known forces.

With the day recently gone and the bright moon now occupying the sky, I move the ranger into my complete tent. Taking him out of his battered uniform and as carefully as I could, putting him into a spare sleeping bag, I take out a can of beans and wait. I look and the Ranger and wish for him to wake up so he can tell me his tale, spill the 'beans' on what the hell's going on out here in the Mojave desert. Before I can however, I close my eyes and succumb to my own fatigue.

_I fall into a deep sleep…_

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_Chapter 3: Armageddon coming soon._


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